


Diary of a Hitman

by Scarper_Von_Hyde



Category: Hitman (Comics), Justice League of America (Comics), The Demon (Comics), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Attempted Murder, Catholic Character, Criminal Masterminds, Demons, Drinking, Gen, Gun Violence, Metahuman Hate Groups, Mind Reading, Questionable Use of X-ray Vision, Re-animation, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-27 17:18:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8410057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarper_Von_Hyde/pseuds/Scarper_Von_Hyde
Summary: The Hitman, Tommy Monaghan, is back from the grave and has been paid by an anonymous source for the death of the Flash and the rest of the metahumans in Central City. Usually, he wouldn’t take the job, killing a hero, it’s not him. But people change, and times are tough. Will the Hitman be able to unravel this web of lies and make the right choice for himself and Central City? Probably not, but hey, you never know!(On Hiatus until I can get over this slump)





	1. Local Heroes

   My name’s Tommy Monaghan, and I kill people for money. It’s a living.

   Well, as a legally dead person I can't say that without feeling weird about it. But yeah, it's a living. I shouldn't even be back up here, but I guess Etrigan figured he owed me one for giving him his heart back, and Baytor owed me for letting him keep his job. Damn demons, I shoulda known they'd toss me into a different universe and into a different time. I died back in 2001, and from what I’ve read, its 2016 on this world. I’ve been dead for fifteen years, and the damn demons brought me back in almost the same shape I left in. But a deal’s a deal, even with a dirty dealer. My hand still hurts where my fingers were regrown, and I swear that when it gets cold, I can feel where the bullets of the military shattered my ribs and spine. But that's a story for another time; I'm not here to reminisce ‘bout how I died, I'm here on business.

   Someone wants people with powers killed, and that just happens to be what I do best. Too easy for people to get powers these days, but it keeps me in business. Regular hitmen kill regular people. I ain’t regular hitmen. Number one in a field of one. Superpowered, supernatural, or just super freaking annoying: I do ‘em all. I take the weird jobs, jobs such as the one I’m on right now. But this job is a little different than the usual.  

   I always wanted out of Gotham one day, but maybe just to move out to Manhattan or somethin’ like that. In Gotham, science and magic always wind together, but only as long as it makes no sense and does no good at all. So I guess I’m glad to be out of there. But I never expected to get out of Gotham City for this. Killing a good guy, a damn _hero_ no less, It’s not what I usually do, but money’s been hard to come by these days. I mean, a hitman with morals has a hard time finding jobs. That and the fact that I, I don’t want to say it but that won’t make it less true, I don’t belong in this world. This world is so different than mine, and I don’t have a place here. There’s that, and I can’t take a shot to the lung the way I used to. Since I died and came back, things have just been too different. I’ve fought mobsters, I’ve fought aliens, fought some demons from Hell, the so-called ‘Main Man,’ and even traded blows with the Batman himself, but I just can’t fight reality no matter how I try. Only hope I can collect on this deal before I wind back up in the pit where I belong.

   But I’ve seen some crazy things, alien vampires, zombie sea animals, a man who fought the devil and won, radioactive Santa, Hell, I’ve even met _Catwoman!_ I’ve seen a man who somehow shit out a car, and I’ve even seen a man who welded dead dogs to people's faces. Those last two shouldn’t be thought about for very long; it’s just too weird. How did that guy get a car in his ass? How did he get it back _out_ of his ass? And seriously, where did the other guy get the dead dogs? And how did he get them to stay on the people's faces? Who the fuck wants to be called " _Dogwelder_?" Whatever, it's not important. And besides, that was all back in the past, and I’m not one to focus on my many, many failings.

   So now here I am, in one of the most prestigious cities on this earth. Central City, home of the Flash and a whole new heap of metahumans. And with powers comes the people afraid of those powers, and that's where I come in.

   Sure, I’ve got my own powers, the X-ray vision, and the telepathy. The X-ray vision’s good, but I love the telepathy. My only problem is my eyes. Moment people see them they just about load their pants in fear. Well, it’s either fear or disgust. But both of those would hurt my feelings. I think it’s the fact that they’re black as coal, or the fact that they make you think about what’s behind ‘em. Nothing scarier than a man willing to kill so that he can eat.

   Central City is too warm for my tastes. A bit of a step up from the grim and cloudy days and nights in Gotham, but it’s still a far cry from the heat in the deserts of Iraq and even further from the flames of Hell. Believe me; I know it all too well. But I guess you can’t have it all, can ya? At least the beer is good.

   Wasn't paying attention to the name of the bar when I came in, but long as there's a pool table and a steady flow of alcohol, it's all the same. Just another dive bar, too similar to Noonan’s back in my realities Gotham. I should miss it, hell, I do miss it, but that's all in the past now. Just like everything else is too. Never thought I would miss my old life this much, but sitting here next to all these other drunken sons of bitches is getting me all sorts of sentimental right now. I need to take my mind off of this, so I might as well check in on other people's minds.

   Everyone on this Earth’s minds are so easy to read. Straightforward. I think I like it, the way I can see everything in their heads without any kind of strain. Guess an outsider can see the issues better than anyone on the inside.

   " _I can't believe Nancy's with John now; she deserves better."_ **"I could just shoot everyone here, and the cops would give me a freaking medal."** “Can’t believe that Len’s so obsessed with the Flash, it’s weird.” _"I need to quit drinking, or I'll be here all night." “I’m so tired of this place.” "_ ** _Whywhywhywhywhywhyw-_** _"_

    Alright, that last one was a little weird, but everything else... It's just too easy now. I drain my beer and toss a fiver on the countertop. I've got places to be and people to kill. Only hope the Flash of this world ain't as fast as the one back in my old world, I don't need that kinda pressure right now.

    I adjust my sunglasses nervously and pop up the collar of my green and black trench coat. The green fabric billows behind me as I walk, reminiscent of the dark cape of Gotham's very own Caped Crusader. Even with the sun high in the sky, my sunglasses still throw the world into a dark shadow, every building, and each person rendered in shades of brown and grey. It's almost beautiful, but you won't ever catch me saying any of that pansy ass shit.

    STAR Labs is my destination, I just want to get this over with as quick as possible, but with my luck, I'll be here all night. My thoughts wander as I move forward through the busy city. There's a lot to think about, but my main concern is who hired me. I don’t know how they knew where I was or that I was even alive. Far as I know, Tommy Monaghan never existed on this Earth. I didn't get a name from my new boss either, just an unmarked letter and an address for a meeting. And at that meeting place they had stayed in the shadows, and somehow kept me from getting into their head. But I do know that they must’ve been military, the way they talked, and all the secrecy gave it away. Don't know who they are, though, or why they want the Flash of this world dead, but I do know that the five thousand dollars that they gave me up front is currently burning a hole in my pocket. The money's nice, it's been a while since I took a job and it's definitely taken its toll on my focus. I can't concentrate worth shit right now, but that might actually be from the alcohol. Shouldn't drink before pulling a job, it's a rookie error and one that I'm always gonna be repeating.

    All this reminiscing is starting to pull me down, almost back to where I was when I found out my family legacy. That's not a story that should ever see the light of day, and it's not something I like to think about for very long. It’s the kind of thing that makes you angry forever. I light up a cigarette to try and take my mind off of things, and I wait in the shadow of the looming husk of a building in front of me. Blow a cloud of smoke which billows up and dissipates almost immediately into the city air. I toss what's left of my cigarette onto the asphalt and grind it beneath my boot before cracking my knuckles and lighting up another smoke. What, I’m an addict, okay? A few minutes pass and the ash of two cigarettes is all the city has to show for my presence. But soon they’ll have more than they ever wanted.

    The infamous STAR Labs, the cause of all metahumans. Well, not all metahumans if you know what I mean, but still. There's three people inside, one woman and two men. I trace the outline of my gun beneath my coat before wrapping my hand around the grip and checking the safety, this should be an easy job, but I ain't gonna catch a break. I never get to catch a damn break.

   I try to walk forward with some semblance of confidence, pushing through the unlocked doors, a thin trail of smoke following my every step. Gun in my hand and grenade in my pocket, just like old times. No, not like old times, not without Natt and the rest all dead and buried. No time for those kinda thoughts, not while on the job.

   Another glance with the X-ray vision shows that I haven’t set off any alarms and that everyone’s still in their places. Nobody’s going anywhere, except to their graves. I raise the gun as I enter a room full of computers and my target. “Now, nobody moves an’ I won’t kill more than one of you. But if you want to make this difficult,” with a flourish I pull the grenade out of my pocket. I narrow my eyes and level the gun at the man with shoulder length hair. A quick glance into his mind, _“Oh god, please don’t kill me, who is this guy, what does he want, he has a grenade, what’s going to happen to me; I don’t want to die again._ ” His thoughts are an interesting mix of English and Spanish, but I’ve still got everything I need and more.

   “Hands behind your head an’ down on the floor please, Francisco Ramon, I’m not here for you.” It’s always so much fun to say their name before they’ve told it to you, gives them a good shock. With my gun leveled on one of them, I turn to the others, the Flash, standing there in his stupid red suit, and the woman, who if I had to guess I would say she was some kind of doctor. But I don’t have to guess. _“Who is this man and why is he here? Barry’s not fast enough to stop a bullet and a grenade at the same time. But if we can keep this guy talking, I can signal for help.”_ Her thought are orderly, and I was right, she’s a doctor. “An’ I’m not here for you either, Doctor Snow, an’ don’t think about trying to call for help. I’m only here for the Flash.”  

   “Me?” The Flash, _Barry_ , looked surprised behind his mask. “What do you want with me?” _“who the hell is this guy, how does he know everyone's names, where did he come from why is he here, ifIgofastenoughIjustmight-”_

   Jesus, he thinks too fast for me to get a good read on him. But I got the basics. Barry Allen, the Flash, all around good guy an’ a bona fide fucking hero. This feels wrong, but a job is a job. “What do you think I’m here for, Flash? I’m here to kill you, Barry, don’t think too much ‘bout that an’ it’ll all be fine.” I keep the gun trained on Francisco and hook my thumb into the pin of the grenade as a threat. “You and I both know you ain’t quick enough to stop a grenade an’ a bullet, so let’s talk business instead.”

   “Alright, alright, let’s not do anything we don’t want to do.” Barry looked nervous, and with a very good reason too. “Who are you and how do you know who I am? No, wait, why are you here?”

   “My names Monaghan, Tommy Monaghan. You can just call me  _‘Hitman_.’ An’ I kill super people for money.” I grin and roll my eyes, “I think you can figure out why I’m here. An’ if you can’t, well, I don’t have the time or the crayons to explain it to you.” Maybe I shouldn’t mock my target, but nobody’s ever said I was a genius. If I remember right, they’ve all said the exact opposite of that.

   “Who hired you?” Stalling. The Flash is stalling. Hah! A little ironic that the fastest man alive needs to stall for time. “Why do they want me dead?”

   I ignore his questions; I have a job to do. “Take off the mask, Barry Allen, let’s get this over an’ done with.” I try not to kill someone without seeing their face, ever since I was in the mind of a person when they died, I've always made sure I could see their faces. 

   “We know your name; we won’t let you get away with this.” Doctor Snow has a point; they do know my name. But I’ve never seen the inside of a prison for my job, and I don’t plan on going there now. “You can’t do this!”

   “Whoa there girl, I think you’re forgetting who has the gun an' the grenade.” Doctor Snow’s not that bad looking; maybe under different circumstances, I would have tried my luck with her. And she’s fierce as hell, just how I like it. But no, can't let my mind wander, it might not come back. “Now then, let’s get back to the killing, I have places to be.” They don’t know that the only place I need to be is on a barstool getting wasted and wishing I could still cry.

   “You don’t want to do this Hitman; this city needs the Flash.”

   “Look, I know this city needs the Flash, but I need to eat. Mask off.” God, I’m regretting taking this job. Part of me wants just to take the five grand and run, pretend I never heard of the Flash, but experience tells me that won’t work out in my favor. And as far as I can tell, inflation rates in this world means I’ll be out of money before the month is up. I really need this job, but this is just going against everything I’ve ever done before. I’ve killed for revenge an' out of reflex, but this just rings false for me.

   “ _No way._ ” Oh god no. What’s under that mask… the Flash is just a damn _kid_. I can’t do this. There is no way in hell I can go through with this. “Ah hell, for fuck's sake I can’t do this. You’re just a kid!”

   “What, a gunman for hire has some morals?” The Flash frowned.  _“Surprising, a murderer with ethics.”_

   “Well I may just be a ‘murderer with ethics’ to you, but that don’t mean jack shit right about now. I ain’t killing a kid.” Fuck the money, I can’t kill a hero, can’t kill one of the good guys. “Fuck, you can stand now, Francisco. An' here, catch.” I toss the gun to the man I had been threatening, “Don’t worry, the safeties still on.” I can always get another gun, one of the perks of this Earth.

   “Wait, you didn’t have the safety off?” Francisco looked confused as he turned the gun over in his hands. “You weren’t even planning on shooting me, were you?” _“Oh thank god, I really didn’t want to die like that.”_

   “Of course not, you weren’t the intended target. But now that I’ve broken contract you might be.” I stash the grenade back in my coat pockets and with a look I assume is an apologetic one, I turn back to the Flash. “Look, I’m sorry for coming here to kill you, but no hard feelings, ‘kay?”

   “No hard-” The Flash, Barry, was upset, and with a decent reason to be. “Yes, hard feeling! Very, very hard feelings! I don’t think I should accept your half-assed apology! There is no way that you’re getting off that easy; you can’t possibly think that-” _“The nerve!”_

   “Barry’s right, and now you’re going to explain everything.” Doctor Snow interrupted the Flash’s little tantrum, her voice clear and cold. Like ice. “Who hired you to kill Barry?”

   I shrug and adjust my sunglasses, sure, wearing sunglasses inside might make me look like an asshole, but it’s better than the alternative. “No idea who he was, didn’t see his face an’ he managed to keep me out of his mind. I just know that they were military, or maybe ex-military, but I’ve seen enough of that kind of attitude to recognize it right away.”

   “Hold up,” Francisco looks surprised, still holding the gun I tossed to him. “Did you just say that you can read people’s minds?” _“So cool… I wish I could do that!”_

   “An’ I can see through walls.” Fine, maybe I was bragging, but who wouldn’t? And there was no way that I was going to mention that I used my powers to see through clothes. For some odd reason, that makes people uncomfortable.

   “That’s so cool!” _“Those are useful and cool powers, unlike what I’ve got. Wait, is he reading my mind? How do I know if he’s reading my mind? Don’t read my mind! AHHH!”_

   “No Cisco, not cool!” The Flash sounded outraged, and his thoughts matched that sentiment. “He came here to kill me, or did you forget that?” _“Who the hell does this guy think he is? I should phone Joe and have this guy arrested! And if you’re reading my mind, then stop it you asshole!”_ The kid had good reason to be pissed; I did threaten to shoot his friend and to blow up STAR Labs.

   “Alright, cool your jets Red.” I reach into my pockets and pull out my pack of cigarettes and my lighter. “An’ quit thinking about turning me in, I might not belong on this earth, but I’ve still got some connections that can keep me out of jail.” Those connections might just be a few guys I met in a dive bar, but it’s better than nothing at all. Besides, I beat them at poker, and now they owe me. Under the gaze of three very confused do-gooders, I spark up my lighter and take a long drag off my cigarette. I blow the smoke into the air, completely aware of the judgemental thoughts of the group. “Besides, now that I’ve broken contract whoever hired me is probably going to send someone else with a little bit more _flexible_ moral code.”

   “Can you please not smoke in here? Or at all, it’s absolutely terrible for you.” Of course, Doctor Snow would be the one concerned about my habit instead of my powers. Not that her thoughts are in agreement with that, as far as I can read she wants to find out how my powers work. _“I should ask if I can take some samples-”_ Yeah, no way is that going to happen. Medical testing is not my jam.

   “Yeah, yeah. I’ve died before so this ain’t nothin' to worry about.” For politeness’ sake, I still stub out the cigarette on the bottom of my boot and stash the rest back in the pack. “Any other questions, or can I start running from the guy who hired me? If experience has taught me anything, it’s that the military likes to kill assets that won’t do their jobs.”

   “Wait, no.” Francisco had an idea; I didn’t need to read his mind to see that much. “Work with us.”

   “What?” Now I was not expecting that, not expecting an offer for a team up. “What are you saying, kid?” I knew exactly what they meant, but c’mon, who wants to work with a hitman? It’s like Superman wanting to work with Lex Luthor! Batman working with Catwoman… no, that’s happened more than once if I remember right. But you know what I mean; this is unprecedented!

   “Help us find out who wants Barry dead; then both issues will be solved!” _“It’ll be like a comic book team up!”_ Francisco grinned and stuck out his hand. “Shake on it?”

   “Sure thing, Francisco, an’ hell, I’ll even work for free!” Not being sarcastic by the way, something about this group makes me want to do good. But I’ll be doing good my way. One handshake later and I’m on a team… even with X-ray vision, I did not see that coming.


	2. Zoom, Zȕm

   “Okay now, I’ve seen some strange things in my life. Like that time I ate that cheese I found behind the fridge an’ tripped out for hours.” I shouldn’t admit to hallucinating after eating that cheese; it’s an embarrassing secret that Natt and the gang would have laughed in my face for it. Even _Hacken_ would have called me out on that. “But someone with the power to  _smell the future_? No. No way, that’s where I draw the line. That’s just too much crazy for me.”

   After joining with team Flash there had been some sort of, I cannot and will not call it an emergency, some kind of _incident_ with a metahuman. They had been running around the city smelling people and shouting about how they could smell the future and just making everyone very uncomfortable.

   “Well, they actually _can_ smell the future, so I don’t know what you want me to say.” Cisco shrugged, “Barry and Caitlin are having him sent to a mental hospital for a few weeks instead of Iron Heights, the poor guy’s just confused is all.”  _I don’t blame the guy for panicking; that’s one weird power._

   I also can’t believe how ridiculous the situation is, but c’mon, there’s got to be a limit to the weird and unusual powers. “Goddamn it, smelling the future, that’s almost a worse power than Resurrection Man!”

   “Who?” _Never heard of them before._ Maybe there wasn’t a Resurrection Man on this earth, and it was probably for the best if there wasn’t.

   I decide to enlighten my new teammate on one of the strangest superpowered people I had ever encountered. “Resurrection Man. He got experimented on an’ he got powers from it! Ain’t that just how it goes? But nothing cool, not like me, every time he died he came back with a different power than he had before!” I chuckle and shake my head as I remember _that_ little adventure. “First time I killed him he became a walking skeleton that was on fire, the second time he had the power to make butterflies. It was beautiful but useless.” It had been so colorful, and the fact that they could create life with their bare hands… awe inspiring. But I don't think you can fight people with butterflies, and I wouldn’t want to try.

   Cisco looks confused, “Wait, the first time you killed him? How many times did you kill him?”

   I turn to one of the computers as I talk, and I take off my sunglasses without thinking about it. With my X-ray vision, I can see everything inside the computer, the tiny circuits, and wires and the microchips; the technology here in this world is amazing! “About twenty I think? I lost track after a while.” Wait that doesn’t sound right. “Huh, wow, I just realized that might make me sound like some kind of a psychopath, but I swear I’m not!” I turn back to Cisco, “I swear it on the Cross an’ all that is Holy!”

   “Dude, the fuck happened to your _eyes?"_ Cisco sounds more surprised than disgusted, but it doesn’t register at first.

   “Oh shit!” I scramble to put my sunglasses back on, “sorry, I forgot. Didn’t mean to let you see that, that’s on me.” Damn, how did I manage to screw _that_ up? Keeping the sunglasses on is rule one in a new place!

   “Why is it an issue? I mean, it’s a little odd, but not a big deal.” He’s not lying. For some reason, he actually doesn’t think it’s a big deal.

   I pause with my sunglasses an inch from my face before speaking, “it’s not?” Huh, that’s a new one. Back on my earth, even my girlfriends had hated my eyes. Hell, most of my best friends and everyone I knew hated seeing me without the glasses. The only people that didn’t mind are all dead, so maybe being stuck in this world is an improvement after all. “Interesting. You’re telling the truth right now; you don’t mind,” I gesture to my face, more specifically, to the worthless black oil spills I call my eyes. “You really don’t mind looking at _this?"_

   “Nah, I’ve seen worse things than that ever since I started helping Barry. So just don’t worry about it.” Cisco doesn’t mind, and his thoughts agree with him. Chill dude, even after I threatened to kill him. Rare aspect in people these days.

   “Cool…” I fold my sunglasses and slide them into one of my coat pockets. “Been a while since I’ve gone without those.” Something about sitting with a person who doesn’t care about my powers or appearance is, I don’t think I know the right word for it. ‘Nice’ doesn’t begin to cover it and the word ‘soothing’ sounds stupid as all fuck. “Thanks, I guess.”

   “No problem.” _Why’s he making a big deal out of this? It’s not a big deal._

   I try and ignore the thoughts I just read, “so, want to teach me how to use the internet? I need to look some people up.” I want to see if anyone in my family is alive on this earth, but I get the feeling that they’re not. Something just tells me that none of them lived to get out of Ireland.

 _Who the hell doesn’t know how to use the internet? Jesus, is this guy out of the damn dark ages?_ Cisco’s thoughts, while not meant to be, are a little insulting. But I don’t say anything; you know how kids can be. “Yeah, sure. I’ll just show you how to Google things, and that’s all you really need."  _Long as I don’t have to teach you t_ _o type, we’ll get along just fine._

   “I’ll have you know I don’t need to be taught how to type, Cisco.” I might not be very good at typing, but I manage. “So explain the difference between ‘Google Chrome’ an’ ‘Internet Explorer.' I don’t get it.”

   “Just know that you should never use Internet Explorer.” Cisco frowned.  _Goddamit, keep forgetting that he could read minds… do I say sorry or just think it? Sorry?_

   “Apology accepted.” I turn back to the computer, awkwardly fumbling with the keyboard as I type in the name ‘Kathryn Monaghan.’ There’s something I need to know before I can do anything to help people. “But aren’t they both internet browsers? Shouldn’t they be the same?”

   “They are not the same! Ugh, just promise that you won’t use Internet Explorer, okay?” I could all but hear Cisco roll his eyes behind my back.  _God, I already regret this._

   “Okay, okay, _jeez_.” A few keystrokes later and I click on the first link I see.

***Kathryn Monaghan found murdered in her home in Donegal along with children Billy, Johnny, and Philomena. Daughter Frances Monaghan is currently missing. The only suspect, Tom Dawson, has refused to comment on his involvement in the case.***

   I don’t want to read this. No, scratch that. I _can’t_ read it. Another headline, but this one just as depressing.

***Tom Dawson arrested for the murder of Kathryn Monaghan, her unborn son, and three of her four children.***

   “Aww, hell. Guess the Monaghan curse lives on in this Earth. Just business as usual.” At least Dawson got what he deserved. No, a prison's too good for that bastard, maybe I should pay him a little visit once this debacle with the Flash is over and done with.

   “What’s the ‘Monaghan Curse?’ Or do I even want to know?” Cisco was curious about what I was looking up, but he didn't want to pry. I didn't even need to read his mind to know that much. _Sounds morbid._

   It’s hard to explain the ‘Monaghan Curse’ without making people depressed. Cisco doesn’t need this kind of darkness, this is my cross to bear, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to burden someone else with its weight. “Nah, it’s nothing to worry about.” So I’m dead on this earth, what else is new. Sure as the earth goes round the sun, Tommy Monaghan never catches a break. “So, uh, when are the others getting back? Cuz if you’re trying to track down whoever hired me, I still have the letter they sent.”

   A blur of red and a streak of yellow lightning blaze into the room, sending papers flying across the room. “Hey you’re in luck, looks like they’re getting back right now.”

   “ _God,_ I haven’t seen anything that weird since we fought Zoom.” Barry slid off his cowl, rolling his eyes, “but I think I prefer this to that maniac.”

   That name sounds familiar. “Wait, did you mean Zoom or Zȕm?”

   “What? What do you mean? It’s Zoom.”

   “Yeah, you just said that. So which one was it?” Damn, it’s like talking to a brick wall with this kid.

   “Which one was what?”

   “Zoom or Zȕm?”

   “I don’t understand what you mean!” Barry glared, his thoughts carrying as much anger as his words. "We're just going around in circles!"

   “Of course you don’t get it!” Fuck, this kid manages to push all the wrong buttons, doesn’t he? “Is it Zoom?! Or _Zȕm?!"_

   “The speedster!”

   “Which one?!”

   Barry flung his hands into the air, "you're not making any sense!"

   “The one called Zoom!”

   “Which one?!” Please God, let me not murder the Flash unless I'm being paid to do so.

   “What’s the difference?”

   “Big difference you nimrod!” I roll my eyes dramatically, “so which one was it, _Zoom_ or was it _Zȕm!?"_

   “Goddamnit, it’s _ZOOM_ !” Barry glared, wanting to throw something heavy.  _Jesus, what the hell is happening?!_

   I listed off the details, “ _Zȕm,_  Hyperclan, alien?”

   Barry shook his head, “no! _Zoom,_ Earth 2, Metahuman!”

   “So which fucking one is it?!”

   “ _ZOOM!"_

   “Do I need to spell them out for you?!”

   “YES, YOU DO!!!” _Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, I hope you fucking die! I hope you go to hell!_ “Fucking spell it out!” Barry literally vibrated with rage, fists clenched in an attempt to keep his fury under control.

   “FINE!!” I snatch up one of the markers next to the wide window and uncap it. On one side of the glass I write ‘Zoom,’ and the second I write ‘Zȕm.’ “Now tell me which one was it?!”

   “The first one!”

   Silence fills the room and is immediately shattered by hysterical peals of laughter. Cisco’s laugh was infectious, and even I found myself chuckling along with the rest of the group. After the laughter had died down, Cisco giggled and asked, “so, Zoom or Zȕm?” and it feels like hours before the laughing stops again.

   “Jesus Christ, what the hell just happened?” I shake my head, trying to understand the insanity.

   “Probably adrenaline and the stress of you attempting to murder me earlier.”

   “Oh, that might be it.” A smirk on my face I turn back to the rest of them. "Maybe."

   “You think?” Barry rolled his eyes and pulled up one of the chairs. "So, Caitlin, what's the blood work from that new guy?

   Barry and Caitlin's conversation continued in the background, a backdrop to the scene. Cisco grinned, “it made me think of that dumb ‘Who’s on First’ bit that everyone did back in the day.”

   “Hm, Abbott and Costello were the first. They were trailblazers.” I sigh softly, reveling in the memories of the past. “Pat and I used to watch old videos of their act when we were growing up. Reading comics, running from bullies... Good times those were.”

   “Just how old are you?” Cisco frowned, “not to be rude or whatever, but that joke was from the thirties, and you don’t look old enough to have been around then.”

   “Let’s just say never make a deal with a demon.” I shrug, the truth is too complicated. Besides, nobody wants to hear about that. We have a mystery man to track down. “I won’t tell you more than that, well unless you buy me some Sierra Nevada first. An’ a lot of it.”

 

***A few bottles of beer and some insanity later***

 

   "Wait, you were killed by the CIA? That fucking blows!" The bar is loud, but not loud enough to drown out my story. It's just Cisco and me, Barry and Caitlin don't seem to know how to have fun. "So what happened with this, this Justice League?"

   “I’m tellin ya’ Cisco; the CIA is full of nutjobs! If it weren’t bad enough that they had those damn zombie sea critters at Injun Peak, the damn CIA is runnin' 'round breeding aliens!” I toss back another Sierra Nevada; it’s so great they have these on this earth. And this bar, 'Saints and Sinners,' it’s not bad. I might even have to paint ‘Sleazy Bar’ on the sign, just to make it more like home. “An’ I’m stuck with Batsy out for the count, a depowered Flash, Green Lantern is havin’ an identity crisis, an’ Wonder Woman actin’ like I’m some horrible monster! An’ all the while Superman is who knows where an’ guess who gets stuck fightin’ him when he comes back? This guy right here!” I drop the empty bottle onto the bartop, “the one with no great powers, no kryto-whatever, just me an’ my useless guns against the Man of Steel.”

   “So what happened?” Cisco’s all but hanging onto my every word, drawn in by my shitty storytelling. “How are you, you know, not dead before you died?”

   “I had to talk him down! Thought I was gonna die up there on the damn moon! Killed by the only decent superhero.”

   “Wait, you had to talk someone down?” Cisco smirked, _surprised they didn’t jump._

   “I resent that!” I try to stand, only to immediately fall back on my ass. “Whatever, I didn’t need to go anywhere.”

   “Hey boss, it’s that jerk who beat you at poker.” Cisco and I both turn towards the voice, but with my sunglasses on it’s too dark to see anything clearly.

   Cisco turns back, “that’s not good.”

   “What? Who is it?”

   “Mick Rory, aka Heatwave. And his boss, the one you apparently beat at poker? Leonard Snart, or Captain Cold.”

   “Oh hell. Wait. Which Captain Cold? Is this Earth the one with the stupid tights or the one with the parka?” They hadn't been in costume when I'd beat them at poker, so I wasn't sure which one it was.

   “Parka.”

   “Nice, he’s cool. Got _style."_ Got me feeling all weird with how good looking he is, but I'm not going to say that bit out loud. Nobody needs to know that I'm having some sort of sexuality crisis. Whatever, new Earth, new me.

   “Well, at least you’ve got that right.” Cisco looks uncomfortable, from what I can read, he's got a history with Cold, and not a good one.

   “You should probably get out of here kid; I’ll report back tomorrow for part two of out titanic team up.”

   “You don’t have to tell me twice, see you later Tommy.” Cisco was off his stool and out of the bar in almost a blink of an eye. I turned back to the bar, counting down the seconds to a possible fight.

   “Pardon the intrusion, but you seem to have come to the wrong bar.” Leonard Snart, or this world's Captain Cold. His voice is… interesting. Maybe it’s just because I’m drunk, but that voice is kinda _hot_. Makes me feel some things that the nuns said would send me to hell. “You may have won by the sheer luck of the draw last time we met,” I rolled my eyes, knowing that they were going to draw out some kind of weapon. “But this time the odds are in my favor.”

   I ignore the barrel of the cold gun pointed in my face, pull out a pack of cigarettes and turn to the one Cisco had called Heatwave. “Hey man, you gotta light?”

   “What?” Mick looked confused; he obviously wasn't paying any attention. _This is... new. Why the hell are they talking to me?_

   “I just need to borrow that lighter you have in your left front pocket, thanks.”

   “Hello?” I continue to ignore Captain Cold; it’s pretty fun actually. He’s getting really riled up from it. “Are you even paying attention to me? I’m pointing a gun at your head!”

   "Please, you're not the first." I rolled my eyes behind the dark lenses of my sunglasses before asking again, "lighter?"

   “Uh, sure.” _How did he know my lighter was there?_ Heatwave digs into his pocket and passes me his lighter. His thoughts are easy to read, but there is a specific heat behind them. A fiery substance to the words. Makes sense, he’s a pyromaniac.

   “Thanks.” I spark up my cigarette and pass the firestarter his lighter back. “Now, Captain Cold, to what do I owe the, er, _pleasure?"_  Smugly I turn back, wearing what some people I knew called a ‘stupidly charming, shit-eating grin.’

   “You were cheating at poker last night, but let’s see you cheat death!” Captain Cold smiled coldly, the hold on his cold gun unwavering. _Nice wordplay, fighting the Flash is paying off!_

   “Been there, done that. I’d rather not try again.” I pull off my sunglasses, enjoying the discomfort my eyes cause. “And I wasn’t cheating, you just had a bad hand and didn’t want to admit it. The cards weren’t in your favor, but even if they were you’d still be a donkey.”

   “How dare you.”

   “You made a bad play. An’ what can you say, I like to tap the glass.” I pause and grin for maximum effect. “Well? What do you think about that, _Fish?"_  This insult used to rile up the boys like no other back at Noonan’s. You can insult a man's looks; you can insult a man's intelligence but the moment you insult their poker skill you've crossed a line.

   “I have a gun to your head, and you’re using poker terms to insult me? Are you insane?”

   “No, but that voice of yours might be drivin' me there.” I winked and dragged my gaze down his body, relishing in the discomfort on Captain Colds face. 

   “Are you, are you hitting on me?” Cold frowned, _I think I’ve lost control of this situation. Should just cut my losses and accept that I owe this guy money._

   “I dunno, is it working?” I tap ash from the end of my cigarette and raise my eyebrows suggestively to punctuate my remarks. “And yes, you have lost control of this situation, which is why you’re going to help me instead of freezing my brain.” I grind what’s left of my cigarette into the ashtray and blow a cloud of smoke into Captain Cold’s face. “And I’m not just ‘this guy.' My name’s Monaghan, Tommy Monaghan. But you can call me Hitman. Now tell me who hired me to kill the Flash.”


	3. The Cowardly and the Meek

    I’d hit the city streets hard last night, but even with the help of Captain Cold and Heatwave, I was still coming up empty at just about every turn. Until I saw, you would never believe it, a damn advertisement in the fucking Yellow Pages. Hell, I barely believe it.

   And okay, maybe it wasn’t me who saw the ad; maybe it was Heatwave. But I ain’t gonna admit to that; it’s just embarrassing. Outsmarted by Mick Rory. Well, I never said that I was a genius. But still, it was Mick Rory!

_"We are Anthem. We are Security.”_

   What a load of bullshit.

   A few phone calls later, some punching and more wasted bullets than I’d like to admit, a couple hours of sleep on a strangers couch, and here we are once again. I throw down a bloody mask, the muddied and stained colors of the American flag still visible through the fresh blood. “Anthem.”

   “Dude, gross!” Cisco jumped out of his seat, trying to distance himself from the bloody puddle spreading on the table. “Get that outta here!”

   Barry looked absolutely disgusted, damn heroes never getting their hands dirty. “What the hell is that?”

   “It’s a mask, numbnuts. Goes on your face and all that. Got it off one of the people who sent me after you.” I fished around in my pockets for the ad Mick had torn out of the phone book. The yellow piece of paper had a few blood spatters on it from my pocket, but it was still legible. ”They call themselves Anthem, a real patriotic sounding bunch.”

   Caitlin raises an eyebrow, “is that a flag mask? And whose blood is that?”

   “I dunno, not important. And besides, they didn’t give me any name besides Anthem.” I roll my eyes and try to sound pompous. “We are Anthem. We are Security.”

   “That sounds... ominous. A little preachy and flag-wavey.” Caitlin carefully picked up the mess of a mask and dropped it into a biohazard bag. "They sound like a nationalist group."

   Barry sighed and rolled his eyes. I could tell that he really resented the fact that I was the only person who could find out what they needed. “What exactly is Anthem?”

   “An Anti-metahuman, haha, get this, protection agency. Hired guns, but not the cool kind like me, more the evil sort who would kill their own grandmothers if told to do so by someone with money. They say they’re going to protect humans by creating some kind of task force, but they need a big metahuman showdown so they can scare people into buying this bullshit.”

   “Showdown?”

   I shrugged and scuffed my boot on the ground, “you know how it is. They wanted a blowout between metahumans, so they sent me in.” Typical military thinking, really.

   “Are you saying they hoped you would fail?” Cisco looked concerned, “that’s all kinds of fucked up.”

   “That’s just how governments work, kid. They like to send you after enemies you can’t hope to go up against in the hope that you get taken out in the process." Sucks that that's how things seem to work in every place I go, even if I only had hard data from two universes. “Familiar territory for me and those I used to work with. Happened all the time when I was freelancing for the CIA.”

   “Like I said, fucked up.” Cisco scoffed, his inner thoughts oddly excited about the prospect of a government coverup. _O_ _f course this is tied to the military, this has conspiracy written all over it._

   “Well, based on what they told me they hoped I would take you on in a public setting, but that’s not how I roll.” I shot a thumbs up at Barry and winked overdramatically behind my sunglasses.

    _Ugh, don't do that._ Barry rolled his eyes and continued his questions. “So, what? They’re the bad guys pretending to be good guys so they can control people’s fears?”

   “They are. They’re the big bad wolf they swear metahumans are.” I racked my brain trying to remember the exact phrase for this situation. "Typical false flag operation if I've ever seen one."

   Barry crossed his arms, and I didn't even need to read his mind to see that he thoughts were rushing faster than he could run. “So how big of a threat is this Anthem?”

   “Not so large right now, but from what I've been told, they’re growing steadily in small towns. I blame the Republicans.” I might not be any good at computers, but I know how to make people talk. And when I asked them… well, talk those people did. Lots of talking, but also a lot of screaming. Good times, but I need to get back on track here. “Cisco, why don’t you look up their manifesto, I’m pretty sure they must have some kind out internet outreach thingy, I dunno, even the Scientologists and the Mormons have one, so I’m sure Anthem must be on there somewhere.”

   “On it Tommy." Cisco did something with the computer; I don't know what he did, I can barely use the internet. "Where are you, Anthem?"

   "So, while you're doing... whatever that is," I adjusted my coat. “Is there a church around here? I need to see a priest about somethin’ personal.”

   “There’s a few down in City Center, but there’s a church just a few blocks from here.”

   "Catholic?"

   "I think so." Cisco shrugged, "I don't know much about the churches here, not really my scene." He turned back to his computer screen, sifting through the layers of facts and lies hiding the truth. _Weird, wouldn't think of Tommy as a religious type._

   “I know, right? Thank’s I’ll be back in a few hours.”

 

***

 

   The church is small, nondescript. I kept my distance, standing on the opposite side of the street and watching the people leave the early service from behind the smoke of my cigarette and the darkness of my sunglasses.

   I never really liked the atmosphere of church services, the solemness and silence always made me feel unwelcome. And I was never one for Sunday School, and once I got older I was a bad Catholic, always running out before communion started, but the confessionals were a different story. Confessionals are private, almost secretive in their anonymity, and in my line of work that's a blessing.

   The heat of the cigarette ash began to burn my fingers, and I flicked the butt onto the concrete where it was ground under my boot. Holy Trinity Catholic Church, a huge stone and brick affair. It's an odd juxtaposition to the slick new skyscrapers and office buildings that make up the rest of the city.

   It's been a long time since I've even prayed, and for a moment I think about turning around and walking away, forgetting about these feelings and ignoring what they mean. But that wouldn't be right. I ran my hands through my hair, stepping off the curb and walking across the nearly empty street.

   Inside the church is warm and welcoming, and I eyed the almost empty pews before seating myself in the back row. I gazed at the cross for a moment before clasping my hands in front of myself and bowing my head. "So, God. Don't know if you're even listening to me anymore, but it's Tommy. I know I've been hanging around demons an' all around being a really bad Catholic, but I'm still thankful for everything You gave me. I just have so many questions an' I'm not able to go anywhere else for answers."

   I shook my head trying to clear my thoughts and continued my prayer. "If You are listening, then can you take care of everyone who died because of me? I just can't stand the thought of Pat, Natt, an' Sean an' the rest not being in Heaven. Sure, sometimes they did bad things, but they weren't bad people. But You must know that... So, I'm not sure what else I should ask for, don't want to be greedy. Just help me get through this thing with Anthem, Barry's a good kid, an' from what I've heard, the metahumans aren't all bad. They certainly don't deserve the bad name they've been given." I fell silent, not sure how to continue. But Hell, it's a prayer, not a scientific article. "Amen."

   Crossing myself, I stood up and stepped into the confessional booth, adjusting to the darkness within. Prayer hadn't quite worked to assuage my guilt, maybe this would.

   The confessional booth is small and musty, and I keep my eyes forward, X-ray vision really makes this have a weird dynamic. Confessing my sins to an anonymous priest doesn't work if I can see them. I pulled off my sunglasses and crossed myself as I began to speak, “Forgive me father, for I have sinned. It has been over fifteen years since my last confession. I have lied, I have stolen, an' I’ve committed multiple murders for money. I’ve made a deal with a demon, an' I’ve gone to hell an’ came back in the wrong world.”

   “What is troubling you, my child?”

   “First things first, I’m not here to be absolved of my sins. Don’t think it’ll take anyways.”

   “Then why are you here?”

   “I just don’t know where else I’m supposed to go to talk about this kind of thing. I mean, I could talk to therapists, yeah, but no way am I going to therapy.”

   “And what would that be?”

   “I’ve been having feelings that I don’t understand. Feelings towards, towards other men.” There we go, getting it all out into the open. Well, out into the confessional at the least. “Now, I know that bein’ like that is supposed to be a sin, but I can’t just ignore those feelings anymore. I mean, if I bottle it all up then who know’s what’ll happen?”

   “When did you begin to notice these...feelings?”

   “Oh, I dunno, a long time ago, I think. But I just kept it to myself. I didn’t want to be the freak that liked both. I didn’t want people to hate me. That an' the nuns were really descriptive about hell back at the orphanage.”

   “Tell me about the orphanage.”

   “Not much to tell, really.” Well, not much to tell because I tried to forget. I wasn't one of the lucky one's; I never got adopted, I aged out of the damn place. But I can’t forget everything that happened within those whitewashed walls. “I spent most of my time outside, runnin’ around with Pat. He was my best friend. I think that, I think that I loved him. Course I could never tell him that, could never really tell anyone ‘bout it.”

   “You said you made a deal with a demon, tell me about that.”

   “Etrigan," I muttered, just the name of the rhyming bastard enough to piss me off. "Oh, an' Baytor. So technically two demons. Always forget ‘bout Baytor. Good guy, well, for a demon.” Patron Demon of the criminally insane, the only words he ever said was 'I am Baytor.' Good guy, really. Decent bartender too.

   “Why did you make a deal with these demons?”

   “Well, I didn’t exactly make a deal, they just brought me back to life without telling me first. But there was a catch; this isn’t my earth and not the right timeline. But I guess I like it here, I just, I just don’t know who I am here. I used to have a reputation, friends and a life back there. But here I have nothing but me.”

   “The Lord is always there in your time of need.”

   “Yeah, suppose you’re right about that.” Sure the priest didn't have many words for me, probably thought I was a nutjob, but still, just having someone to talk to about everything helped. “I know this isn’t how most confessions go, but I wasn’t exactly the best kid in Sunday school.” I was usually the kid sitting in the corner because I was throwing things at the teacher.

   “One needs not be the best to be good.” Sure, it's just simple proverbs, but it's helping somehow.

   "But I don't know if I am good. Don't know a lot of things."

   "You don't need to know if you are good, you only need to do good things, and the knowledge will follow."

   “Thanks, father, I really needed to get some of that all off my chest.” I shrugged, “so what, now? Do I need to do fifty Hail Mary’s as penance? Maybe a few dozen Our Fathers? ”

   “I say only five Hail Mary's.”

   “Lenience? Go figure. Thanks again.”

   “Go with Christ, my child.”

   “Little too late for me, but I’ll try my damndest."

 

***

 

   "How the hell do you guys make money here?" Honest question, far as I could tell the Flash is the only one on the team with a real job. "How do you pay to keep the lights on? Are you secretly rich?" I guess Dr. Snow has a job; she's not here.

   Barry ignored my questions, instead waving over at Cisco to answer them with his own. "How was church?"

   "Quiet, I got some thinking done." And maybe after I left the church I had gone and 'borrowed' money to buy more guns than is really legal, but the less they knew about the real man I was, the better. "So, what did you find?"

   "Not much, but you were right about the internet outreach program. It looks like they're trying to recruit teenagers into the Bellwether program."

   "Bellwether program?"

   "Agents that'll report back to them about anyone that might be a metahuman, or as the website says, an 'aberrant.'"

   I frowned, "well, then. That sounds like fascism, and I know from fascism."

   "Conspiracy websites say they're being funded by the CIA."

   "I just know this has something to do with this world's Truman." I mean, taking out capes is something that bastard was famous for, I wouldn't doubt if it was some sort of universal constant.

   "Who's Truman?"

   "A staunch hero-hater. Bastard would kill Superman if he could. Hell, he actually tried to hire me to do that kinda shit once."

   "Yeah, their rhetoric is real... right wing."

   "I know that look, they xenophobic?" I've seen the look Natt would get back in Gotham, same as the look Tiegel would get from the slimy cops she used to work with. I could recognize that look anywhere.

   "Extremely."

   I rolled my eyes behind my sunglasses, "bet it's homophobic too, right?"

   "And he's got it in one!"

   "Damn republicans." They're driving this country into the damn ground. "You got a location for me?"

   Cisco brandished a few papers in my direction. "New highrise got built in record time down in City Center; their IP address puts them in a two block radius, you do the math."

   "I dunno, PE was more my speed. Guess I'll hit them tomorrow, but first I've got to see a guy on the docks about a bribe." I turned to the door, the knowledge that this would all be over and done with lifting a weight off my shoulders. "We still on for drinks later?"

   "Sure thing."

 

***

 

   "To stopping a hate group!" Cisco tapped his bottle of beer against my shot glass, the atmosphere of the small pub less oppressive than the last place we drank.

   "I'll drink to that an' literally everything else!" I tossed back my shot, enjoying the burn of cheap whiskey and waved at the bartender. "Another round over here because you're not drunk until you've cursed at a nun and made out with a leather jacket!"

   Barry smirked, "you made out with a leather jacket?!"

   I thunked my head on the table, "I don't wanna talk about it!"

   "Little defensive, are you? Do I need to keep an eye on my suit?"

   "What, you ain't my type!"

   "But the suit is, right?" Damn you Cisco, don't join him! Thought he said it wasn't leather anyway.

   “Did you know that I only have one nipple?!” Shit. I shouldn't have said that, but it's guaranteed to get them off the damn leather jacket incident. Leather jacket was a horrible kisser anyway.

   Cisco spat out his beer and gaped, “...excuse me?”

   "Yep, only one nipple... now how bout them Yankees?"

   "Hold up, how do you only have one nipple?" Cisco had a look of confusion on his face that I would rather not turn into understanding.

   "Whaaaat, who said that?!" I put on my best clueless face, in other words, my regular face. "Now why do you think that?!"

   "You just told us!"

   "Oh yeah..."

   Barry sipped at his whatever and soda. It wasn't alcohol therefore not a real drink. "Explain that, but don't show us!"

   “It got cut off back in Japan by the dammed Waterman… before they killed Ringo… Fuck, this got dark.”

   Barry must've read the feeling in the air because he was off to the bar before I knew it, leaving Cisco and me to talk.

   "You ever see Hong Kong at night? It's like the Manhattan skyline built up against a mountain. It's beautiful, really."

   “Who was Ringo?” Damn, he know's I'm deflecting.

   “One of the best hitmen I ever knew. Better than me by a long shot. Literally. His aim was better than mine.” I throw back another shot, the deep burn of the cheap bourbon unlocking the feelings I kept behind closed doors. ”I miss Pat! Miss drinking Sierra Nevada in the back of the old bar, I miss the hitmen only poker nights! He was m’ best friend, best man I ever knew. I loved ‘im like a brother, like more than a brother. I wish I coulda told him! But he’s dead! Sure, sometimes he was an idiot, a’ he had me fight his battles for him, but now I wish I coulda’ fought them all! Wish I could have saved him…”

   I still remember how I felt when I found Pat covered in blood, I wish he would have given up my location to save himself. Wish I didn't have to put a bullet in his head to keep him from dying slowly. But it's too late for wishes; now I can just try to be who he thought I was. “I’m so sorry Pat, guess I’m not the hero you wanted me to be… Every good person dies! I mean, the moment someone tries to do the right thing, they just, they just die!”

   Cisco frowned, “Damn, that’s some, those are some heavy feelings.”

   “I know, I’m sorry for bringing you down like this, but I guess you’re my only friend right about now.” God, that's pathetic. I'm an old man palling around with a kid in his twenties! Maybe I'm just a weirdo. “Fuck, my life ain’t exactly an inspirational story, but I thought I had more good in it… guess I was wrong 'bout that. Wrong about a lot of things.”

   “Shit, so, we just sayin' all our regrets? Here goes; sometimes I blame myself for my brother's death! Maybe if I had just tried a little harder, I could have known what was going to happen.” Cisco downed his beer, grabbing the bottle of whiskey and filling his long empty glass before continuing, “Fuck, I can see the future, but I couldn’t see the drunk driver that… I couldn’t see the drunk driver that killed my brother.”

   I raised my glass. "To lost family, eh?" God, I still have nightmares about what my bastard of a father did to my sister. She was slaughtered like a damn animal just because she dared to find out what happened to mom. "May God guide their souls to eternal peace."

   "Yeah, something like that." Cisco grimaced and waved to Barry over at the bar. "I'm constantly terrified that I'm gonna go dark side, everyone else seems too, why not me?"

   "Hell, you're not in control of what others do." I know plenty about that myself. Free will is a bitch and a half. “Nat died because he threw in with me. If he hadn’t have gotten involved he wouldn’t have been killed by the damn CIA.”

   "Shit. I saw one of my doppelgangers die in front of me. And even though they were a criminal, I actually considered taking him up on his offer of running the city with him." Cisco shrugged, "life is just shit for people who try to do the right thing, isn't it?"

   "Amen to that." I lifted my glass but didn't drink, not even needing to read Cisco's mind to know he had more to say.

   "My mentor actually did kill me, but you know how alternate timelines work." The kid brushed his hair back, "it's just all bullshit." 

   "That's fucked up. I shot Santa once, he was a radioactive janitor and went nuts." I poured out another glass of whiskey, "idiot tried to quote the damn Bladerunner speech to me, everyone does that shit."

   "Dude, what? I almost faded out of reality once, had a migraine for a week. But the only way I could live was if Barry let his mother killer go. I dunno, I feel kinda responsible." Cisco sipped his beer before shaking his head and brushing his hair back out of his eyes. “God, we’re both just self-hating human train wrecks, aren’t we?”

   “You can say that again, kid.”

   "So... you said something about making out with a leather jacket?"

   Dammit.


End file.
